L'ange de Perfection
by symphony-regina
Summary: A MarySue seduces Enjolras, who makes a 'radical' move. What might this move have on the future of the Les Amis, June 6th and France? Rated T just to be safe. Read and review!
1. In Which We Learn of Shanaelle Clairvaux

**Written out of complete boredom Lots of Mary-Sueness and OOCness. No flames please but constructive criticism is okay. In no way is this humor…maybe satire but not humor. :P**

Enjolras walked down the cobbled roads with a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. Clearly he was thinking about what to do next, which revolution was more powerful, where would be the right place to stage an insurrection and about other revolutionary scenarios in other countries. His blonde, flyaway hair seemed to cast an ethereal glow around the dim sidewalk, like a lamp in the middle of a room filled with darkness and fear. Indeed he was the light that lit the sidewalks as all the homeless, abased citizens of France seemed to stare at him with a kind of awe only depicted in bibles and in churches. To the people who had seen so many ugly things in their life, death, malnutrition, disease, seeing something beautiful was like a little miracle from God Himself. Enjolras was, in some obscure way, their cherub. They would look at him for a moment, fill their hearts with some sort of hope, and turn away.

He usually ignored the people that were staring at him, for he had no idea that he was handsome. He thought that they were staring at him like he was some sort of freak, averting their eyes when he tried to make contact with theirs. He didn't care, of course, he wasn't sensitive like Prouvaire was or anything. In fact, he didn't care about anything that was pretty. He never stopped to smell the flowers (much to Jehan's horror), he never stopped to appreciate women nor did he stop to think about the small peace that was around them. To him, he was the apparition of Sir Galahad, who had only one goal and nothing else.

That was until he met _her._

She was _just_ a stunningly handsome young girl who happened to brush by him one fine night; and when their bodies made contact Enjolras exploded. He had to know about her and he, for a moment, forgot about his revolutionary cause.

Her name was Shanaelle Clairvaux and she was a very pretty girl. Her brown hair fell to her waist and was knotted, teased, braided into the most skillful of all hairstyles. Her bright green eyes were always alight with happiness, intelligence, wit and everything that a woman could desire. They seemed to change colour with her mood; from a dark green when she was sad and to a bright blue-green when she was in love. Her body was slim and Enjolras could tell that she didn't need a corset to show her svelte, hour-glass shaped body. Despite the fact that her skin was always pink with a blush, one could always see that her skin was as pale as the moon and as smooth as china. Her smile was one befitting a fairy from myths while her laugh was so pleasant that the Muses could not compare. Indeed she was the perfect woman.

Enjolras was immediately smitten with her and forgot about _patria_, his country and his motherland. He wanted to take her away and hear her laugh at his jokes. He was becoming like Prouvaire, always thinking about love and marriage. But who could resist someone as pretty as Shanaelle, whose beauty rivaled that of Venus and all of the Greek nymphs?

"I am in love," he told himself one day, his voice soft and low. In the twenty-two years of his life he had never been so happy. His cheeks, which were once pale and almost colourless, were alive and red while his rose-tinted lips were always alight with a stunning smile. He was in love and everyone in the backroom of the _Café Musain_ could tell. Everyone, down to the drunken and clueless Grantaire.

Combeferre, Feuilly, Courfeyrac and Jehan were lost in a conversation about Enjolras' strange behavior. Combeferre and Feuilly were more concerned than Courfeyrac and Jehan, who were thrilled with the news.

"I say, Enjolras is such a fool," Feuilly said while taking a long sip of his black coffee. The poor man could never afford the lovely wine that the others drank and refused to let them buy him a glass.

Combeferre sighed and nodded his head, indicating that he agreed whole-heartedly with the orphan. "I'd rather him be a tyrant than in love."

_A tyrant_. Jehan looked him, astounded, and blushed a little before burying himself in his notebook. "A tyrant is a little harsh, Combeferre." He sighed before closing up his little potpourri of poems. "But I believe that this is just a phase—a lovely phase, though—this is the first time he's been in love—well, the first time we know of—and I'm sure that he's just a little flustered." Then his eyes went dreamy as he thought of his first love, Nadina, and his current love, Vivienne.

Courfeyrac snorted at Jehan's statement and took a long swig of wine. He tried to focus his eyes but finally gave up and stared at the window when he was really trying to look at Feuilly. "What I think is that it's about time for Enjy to get a boyfriend—I mean, girlfriend. I heard he's still a vir—" He was cut off when Combeferre placed a hand on his mouth.

"That's enough, Courfeyrac," the intelligent man chided as he wiped his hand with his trousers. "Even if he's pathetically love struck he's still Enjolras and we have to respect him." With a nod of his head he returned back to one of his big books of knowledge.

There the conversation died.

Enjolras walked out of the _Café Musain_ and to his surprise he saw Shanaelle leaning against the dirty lamppost. Immediately he felt sick and wanted to run back into the backroom and hide. But no, even though he was a love struck buffoon at that moment he was still Enjolras at heart. So with a confident, charming smile he walked up to the lovely lady and said, "A beautiful girl like you should not be in the streets at this hour."

Shanaelle looked up, her eyes a dull blue-green, and sighed dramatically, arousing pathos into the poor blondie. "I would be at home but, alas, I have no home. My mistress sent me out when she found out I was more popular than she. Now I have no home…just many callers." She sighed again, a tear clinging to her fair eyelashes like a shipwrecked sailor to a rock.

Now our blonde hero was still compassionate about the poor and when he heard our poor brunette's story he could not help but feel angry. "Those damn _bourgeois_! How dare they toss aside such a beautiful girl!" The, suddenly, an idea popped into his wild, smitten mind.

"Shanaelle Clairvaux, will you join the Friends of the ABC?"

**Well? Should I continue this story or should I just leave it at that? Please review!  
****+Regina**


	2. In Which Shanaelle Is In The Club

**Yay, reviewers! gasps in pure surprise Anyways, apologies if this isn't the best of my work, wrote this in a rush, y'see. But Read/Review! **

**Oh, yes, and I forgot: **_Victor Hugo owns everything except for Shanaelle. He wouldn't have the right mind to put someone as Mary-Sueish as Shanny in there._

"Shanaelle Clairvaux, will you join the Friends of the ABC?"

Enjolras asked that question with such a dreamy look in his eyes. He was so desperate for an answer that he fell on his knees and began to look like he was worshipping the very ground that Shanny was standing on. Oh, how true love has molded this fine young revolutionary into a Mary-Sue!

Shanaelle's delicate green eyes turned a shade of lime green as she stared at him through her black eyelashes. "Oh? _Les Amis de l'ABC_? Ah yes, that group." She smiled and fluttered her silk fan. Despite the fact that she was a prostitute (which, at that time, was considered one of the lowest jobs held by a woman) she was able to dress so finely that even the Empress of insert random country was so jealous of her that she plotted with Shanaelle's mistress to get rid of her.

"Yes!" he said in an astounded voice as he slowly got up, fearing and worshipping the wonderful goddess. "How did you know?" The Friends of the ABC was a secret society and no one could ever know about it unless they were the most skilled spy. He stared in awe at her, amazed at the sight he was beholding.

Her green eyes flared up to a blue-green, making her even more beautiful than ever. "I was once a woman soldier and a head spy, you know," she said casually, like it was nothing at all. Really, it wasn't because our dear little girl knew so much that being a spy and a soldier in a male dominated society meant actually nothing to her. She smiled and put down her fan, revealing two delicate rose petals that formed a full, inviting pair of lips that Enjolras just wanted to kiss.

_She is the most beautiful woman in the world!_ he thought and began to play nervously with his cravat, which he never did, yet, true love ruined many things including an in-character personality.

"But yes, I will join your little group and we'll see what I can do," she said and nodded her head, her brown tresses bobbing up and down despite the fact that they were tied up in a very, very fashionable knot.

It was like he saw the world anew; she had just accepted his very humble invitation. He smiled widely; his face now flushed to the very roots of his hair, and took her by the hand. The soft, uncallused hands were as cold as ice yet they generated such a warmth that Enjolras could not describe. The very feeling made him go all tingly inside. He turned to Shanaelle and smiled again. "Come now, I must show you to the other men!"

Bahorel, Grantaire and Bossuet were playing cards; Joly was looking at his tongue in the mirror and the rest were still discussing love when Enjolras entered the backroom of the _Café Musain_ with a red kind of flush on his face. They looked up, surprised.

Combeferre stood up and walked over to Enjy, very concerned. "What happened?" he asked.

"I want to show you all the newest member of the _Amis de l'ABC_!" he said and jumped up and down like an excited, thirteen year old schoolboy. The other men looked aghast, as the real Enjolras would never do anything so foolish and childish.

Jehan coughed a little and glanced at Feuilly, who glanced at Courfeyrac, who started to laugh. "That's a funny a joke, that is. We're not accepting any new members! Now why don't we just have a nice glass of wine and—oh…" He was astounded at the lovely Aphrodite that had just walked into the backroom.

It was Shanaelle.

Now, Courfeyrac had seen plenty of pretty and beautiful girls in the Latin Quarter and in the brothels of lower Paris. But he had never seen anything so beautiful, so delicate and so _perfect_. He, the Casanova of the group, was left wordless as he stared at the lovely girl with the hourglass figure, the fine sense of fashion and the lovely lips. "I, I, I…_mon dieu!_" he exclaimed and buried his head in his elbows.

That wasn't the only reaction that Shanaelle received from the group. Combeferre turned bright red and began to fumble with his glasses nervously, muttering something about Shanny being prettier than any butterfly or flower he knew; Jehan turned pale and then red, then rushed off to write sonnets about the girl's beauty; Joly stared at her, dropping his precious mirror and cane; Bossuet muttered something about Aphrodite; Bahorel muttered something obscene; Feuilly, like all the others, went red and tried to busy himself with fans while poor Grantaire snapped out of a hangover and stared at her with 'intelligent' eyes.

So to say, all of the _Amis_ were smitten by this sweet little prostitute Shanaelle.

Courfeyrac banged his hand against the wooden table, emitting a kind of tremor throughout the whole room. "I say we let her in! Eh, boys?" He stood up and looked around the room, a crazy gleam in his eyes. There was a unanimous cheer from the other eight men, including Enjolras.

The vote was that Shanaelle would be accepted as the only woman ever to venture into the backroom of the _Café Musain_ (minus Louison) and the only woman to ever set foot into the group of the Friends of the ABC. Yes, Mademoiselle Clairvaux was really that special.

Shanaelle smiled, her rose petal lips breaking apart and revealing a set of teeth so bright that it may just blind someone some day. Yes, despite the fact that she lived in the slums of Paris she was still able to have perfectly manicured nails and a set of clean, white, sparkling, dazzling teeth.

"Thank you very much, dear sir," she cooed and edged closer to Courfeyrac and smiled a luminous smile.

Enjolras, who had never really had anything to be jealous for (he was _hawt_, rich and learned), now felt the green devil of jealousy bite him hard. "Stay away from her," he commanded and gave one of his signature glares to Courfeyrac. "We-we're here to discuss revolutions, not this silly thing you call 'love' or mistresses."

"Silly?" she asked in a half-whispering tone and gave a doe-eyed look to the blonde revolutionary. Her green eyes turned a shade of blue as her gaze directed itself over to Enjolras.

"Silly? Did I say that, I meant wondrous and loving!" He shook his head. "But we're still here to talk about revolutions," he added sternly, senses coming back to him. "Now, men and lady"—he smiled charmingly at Shanny—"justice is something valuable. Remember our motto, Mother France's motto: _Liberté, égalité, fraternité_. This is how France will be ruled in the future…" Enjolras continued with his speech with everyone (minus Courfeyrac) paying attention.

At the end of the speech there was scattered applause. Shanaelle sniffed a little but still managed to form a very charming, angelic smile. "How very lovely, how very moving," she commented in her harp-like voice and fluttered her fan in applause, after all, that was the proper thing to do.

Enjolras grinned and bowed at her. "Thank you, thank you! I do it for France." He paused and brushed past Shanny. "But I do it for you now."

As we can all see, Enjy was absolutely smitten with dear Shanaelle.

**I almost threw up writing that chapter. Anyways, liked it? Disgusted? You should be. :P Review+points at button+ **


	3. In Which Courfeyrac Gains The Particle

**Yay, once again, thanks for the reviews. It feels so nice to be noticed dramatic gasp There's a new charrie in the story called Angelique. She'll probably disappear after this chapter but if you want me to keep her tell me. :)**

Shanaelle Clairvaux was now with her prostitute friend Angelique Nymphette Lafayette-deFlaeria, who was equally as pretty but not as beautiful. See, there's a big difference between those two lovely words and characters. But they were both very, very beautiful and they were both very nice prostitutes who were very smart and could read better than most university students could.

Angelique Nymphette Lafayette-deFlaeria was a very pretty girl with black hair that was darker than the darkest of soot and the darkest or nights. Her hair was up to her knees and curled in beautiful ringlets that were the envy of all the bourgeois girls of the area. Her skin, like Shanaelle's, was as pale as the finest porcelain and contrasted in the loveliest fashion with her black hair. She had an hourglass figure with a lovely (_censored!_). The strangest thing about her, however, was the fact that her eyes weren't the normal blue, green or brown but they were a stunning mix of silver and violet, which made her even more beautiful. But she never realized she was beautiful and wondered why all the men on the street came up to her with faces red, on their knees and with a very large diamond ring in a box.

Indeed she was a fine lady not only in looks but in intelligence as well. Her poetry outshone that of Jean Prouvaire's (don't ask how she knew the poor little poet), she was stronger than Bahorel and she had a glare that could surpass Enjolras'. Her poems were mainly about love and mythology and they were widely acclaimed, though she never received any fame because she went under a male pseudonym of Alfred Lord Tennyson who was supposed to be an English man. Yes, she was very smart but she could not go to university because, alas, she was only a woman.

One day Angelique and Shanaelle were walking down the street chattering in livid voices about the latest fashions when, out of the blue, Enjolras walks by with an out-of-character smile on his face. He had probably seen her in the distance (after all, who wouldn't notice two heavenly beings walking down ugly slums) and rushed up to her.

"Dear Shanaelle, where have you been? I have been postponing the meetings until you have arrived," he babbled and grabbed her hand, smothering it with countless kisses. Apparently he hadn't noticed the other ethereal being that was standing beside his true love.

As Enjolras was kissing Shanny's hand like there would be no return, Angelique's perfect eyesight caught the figure of a handsome though somewhat lanky man chasing after Enjolras. It was the figure of Courfeyrac; she knew that because she, like Shanny, was a head spy and knew everyone that frequented the Latin Quarter. A beatific smile crossed her face as the dark haired figure approached. "Ah, Courfeyrac!" she exclaimed merrily, a twinkle in her eye.

Courfeyrac looked up, his handsome eyes startled. How did this girl know her? No matter, though, she was just so beautiful that couldn't help but turn red. "Ah—ah, one beautiful woman after another," he muttered under his breath before gathering his senses. Senses collected, he turned his face up and looked at the very beautiful girl and said in his most charming voice, "You are very beautiful, your beauty separates you from the other women like the moon and the water." Ah, so some people weren't so poetic like Jehan or Angelique. "But, pray, tell me what your name is _mon cheri_."

Angelique fluttered her black lashes and Courfeyrac watched in pure awe as they kissed her high cheekbones before fluttering back above her mystic eyes. "My name is Angelique Nymphette Lafayette-deFlaeria."

Courfeyrac blinked and smiled like a nervous schoolboy, which he wasn't, if he were in character, of course. "Your surname is _deFlaeria_?" he enquired, forgetting about his hate for the particle. "Then I shall be Monsieur deCourfeyrac! Come, _mon cheri_, let us go and have dinner at my apartment." He said the last two words with such mirth it was like he would explode any second.

Then, taking deFlaeria by the hand, they left.

That left Shanaelle and Enjolras alone with nothing but the underdogs who were moaning in the streets. Enjolras blushed a little and took his mistress by the hand, still unsure of what to do. He had never talked about love to anybody, not even to his confidant Combeferre, and he was very, very unsure of what do to with such a beautiful, lovely, heavenly etc etc lady.

Shanaelle smiled, sensing his discomfort, she had the power of strong empathy. "Oh dear Enjolras, I—oh? Who's that?" she asked abruptly, turning her head and looking rather curiously at a middle-aged inspector-looking man who was walking down the street with a haughty look in his eyes.

"He?" Enjolras asked, rather lost. It was just a regular member of the police force who was just **not as attractive as he was**. How dare she go all lusty-ful to that ugly man instead of him? Was it something he did? Did he offend? What, what, what!

Enjolras turned to a shade of pale pallor as he watched the one and only love of his life look at the inspector-man curiously, like a child. "Oh, Shanaelle, come on," he finally sputtered and grabbed her by the hand, placing a kiss on it, before pulling her back to the Latin Quarter's _Café Musain. _

The police man's name was actually Javert and he was enjoying a walk around the outskirts of the famed Latin Quarter while inspecting all of the people around him while he was at it. Apparently everything was going to plan as he had reprimanded and 'told off' a group of gamin who were defacing a wall with obscene messages. Now everything was all fine and dandy and everything just got better when he saw _her._

**Hopefully this is a cliffhanger of sorts. Apologies for the lame and short chapter. . Anyways, enjoy/review/read/wrech/whatever.**


	4. In Which There Is A Fight

**Apologies for the delay (if there was any)…apparently the teachers of my school aren't happy of the fact they're already breaking child labor laws and want to pile us with more homework. Just a rushed little chapter. Enjoy. **

…when he saw _her_.

She was like a vision that had fallen to into his mind when he was sleeping. Surely, he thought, there could be no prettier than the wonderful angel in silk that has fallen before my unworthy eyes.

A smile passed his wrinkly face, making him seem like he wasn't so hard and so…old. Yes, he seemed like he was only twenty-some old now, now that he had a warm smile of lust and delight plastered over his face. He looked very handsome now and a group of grisettes who were walking back from work looked at him, giggling about sweet nothings and handsome 'older' men.

But that didn't matter to our dear member of the French police force, all he wanted to do was find out what the name of the lovely lady was. So, with his face burning like brand he walked up to the lady (who was being ushered away by a rather harried-looking Enjolras) and said, "My dear lady, I find you rather dashing and lovely, will you please tell me your name?"

The wonderful lady's soot black lashes fluttered for a moment as she cooled herself with the silk fan she had her hands. "My name is Shanaelle Clairvaux," she said in her half-whispering voice. The man holding her hand grunted.

_The man_. Javert's face fell as he saw the angelically handsome man holding Shanaelle's hand. It felt like the whole world was crashing onto him, chunk after chunk, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He sighed wearily, his years coming back to him.

But wait…maybe he could seduce the girl into his arms. Of course! He had his share of mistresses in his day and he could inveigle the girl into his arms; that way she would forget about what that sappy little blonde man-child ever did to her. How perfect his plan was…that is, if the man-child weren't so perfectly handsome.

Still, the show must go on!

"Ah, Mademoiselle Clairvaux," he began breezily, remembering the times he, as a young boy, would go and play with the ladies. "Surely you prefer the company of someone with the title of an inspector than a university student." He shot a quick glare at the handsome man, who was white all over and positively fuming.

The lovely lady's eyes changed from a wonderful blue-green to an enchanting, seductive green-blue as she glanced wistfully at the blonde man. "Enjolras..." she whispered, placing a finger on the boy's pale cheek.

_Enjolras, Enjolras_. Javert's eyes narrowed as the surname went through his head. Probably a university student who was trying to change the world with flowery prose and a lovely speech. Well, at least this older and more sensible man had the advantage when it came to logic.

"Now listen here, Inspector," the handsome man 'Enjolras' snarled, showing his perfect teeth. "She's my mistress and as a follower of the so-called French law I expect you to—"

"Monsieur, I have every right to arrest you for speaking poorly to a member of the police force," Javert warned, a strange tone in his usually stern voice. It must have been—it must have been pure, absolute _love_! Pure love! The thing poets mourned about in their work, the thing centuries of artists attempted to capture and failed. Yes, the goddess of love herself had just placed a kiss on Javert's face and mercilessly left her yearning for more. Ah, how—

_Smack_! Something hit him hard in the face! The poor police man was dazed for a moment as the pain spread through his whole head, numbing him and stealing his senses. Through his double-vision gaze he saw a flash of golden hair standing in front of him, with a glare that scared him even through his throes of pain.

"How dare you!" Javert hissed through his teeth and, with the nightstick he carried always carried around, smacked Enjolras blindly. There was a cry of pain and a silent string of curses before the man doubled the attack.

The fight had begun.

Jehan Prouvaire walked down the streets of Paris with a notebook in hand in hopes of meeting with Feuilly and sharing a few of his sacred sonnets with him. Feuilly was the only person, aside from Combeferre, who could really appreciate the little things in life. Indeed, they were different; Jehan was from a wealthy family whilst the other was from almost nothing at all. Yet, they both held a career that required the love of art and all things delicate.

"'_My love for you is as radiant as Helios'—_no, that would never work. Combeferre tells me I make too many references to the Greek gods…" thus he rambled, talking to himself, oblivious of what was around him. The few people who passed by him gave him strange looks, muttering about Bohemians and dreamy university students. Jehan was oblivious of that too.

But, despite all that, he heard the war cries to two men in the corner of one of the deserted streets. "Oh dear," he muttered, tucking his notebook away and rushing to the source of all the noise. There, to his surprise, he saw Enjolras on the ground and wrestling. Next to them, in all her glory, was the lovely woman that Enjolras had brought in just the other day.

"Mademoiselle," he began, feeling his face turn from pale to a beet red. "Are you alright? What's happening?" He had completely forgotten about his dear friend Enjolras in the presence of this lady.

"Oh it was just awful! They just began fight and…the blood!" She sighed dramatically, swooning into Jehan's arms.

Jehan wasn't the strongest person in the world and almost dropped the girl when she fell into his arms. "Ah… Your skin is as soft as rose petals," he muttered, his face only a few inches from hers.

She smiled bashfully, her wonderful eyes once again changing colours. "_Merci beaucoup_," she whispered.

"Come with me the _Café Musain?_" he asked, completely forgetting his visit Feuilly. Perhaps she could be someone who would appreciate his poetry…

**Well? Whaddya think? Please review!**


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